The Island of Intrigue/Chapter 14

OR a long time I stood quite still where she had left me, looking at the closed door as if I had been turned to stone. Then it seemed as though something gave way in my heart, and I crumbled to a little heap on the floor, my pent-up fear and horror, and anger, too, sweeping over me like an engulfing wave. I felt utterly helpless, lost forever! If Gilbert should manage to avoid falling into their clutches, he would never find me here, and even though he did, there was no possible way of escape from this room, which was as impregnable as a fortress.

Should Gilbert, all unsuspecting of the truth, scale the ladder to my window that evening to rescue me, he might walk straight into their hands! If I could only warn him! If I could only convey to him in some way the knowledge that our plans had miscarried, and through no voluntary act of mine, I had failed in my promise!

What would be the end of it all? Would the police obtain some clue, which would lead them here in time to save me, to save us both? Would Daddy accede to the outrageous demands of these people, and pay the enormous ransom they asked, in spite of the advice of the authorities, or would this desperate crew in the event of their plot seeming defeated, kill me and fly the country?

I thought of that sinister mound of earth in the depth of the woods, and of that terrible choking cry I had heard the night of our arrival, and I trembled anew. In the light of the recent revelations, there was no doubt in my mind but that someone had attempted to thwart their scheme, or at least had shown suspicion of it, and had been summarily done to death. With one murder on their souls, they would not hesitate to do away with Gilbert, or with me, if their plans failed, and discovery threatened. Oh, would I ever live to see Daddy again, to feel Gilbert's strong arm about me, and to know that I was safe with them both?

As I lay weeping out my terror and despair, a sound broke upon my ears which aroused me to a quick realization of the present. It was the rapid, diminishing crackle and whirr of the racing motorboat. Alaric or Monsieur Pelissier must have departed post-haste for the mainland, to send a message of warning to the others who were concerned in the scheme, probably the man who had posed as Daddy's broker, Mr. Fordyce, for one. With the thought of him came again the same vague sense of familiarity with his appearance. I could not recall anyone of my possible acquaintance who possessed such striking snow-white hair, but that had seemed somehow an incongruous note. His eyes, as I remembered them, had been so youthfully keen and piercing, and his bearing that of a man in the full prime of life. The hair might have been merely a wig, of course, an attempt at a disguise which his every attribute had belied.

Had the girl, May Grady, referred to him when she cried: "I knew it wouldn't work! I told Herman so?" I was quite sure I had never known anyone named "Herman"! Who could he have been, this man with the tone and gesture of a public speaker, an orator.

Suddenly I heard footsteps pause outside my door, and the bolt withdrawn. I rose weakly to my feet, and dragged myself to one of the bunks, where I sank down just as the door slowly opened and Lorna entered.

She bore a basin of warm water, which she placed upon he table, and turning, relocked the door. Then she came quietly to me.

"I want to dress your arm, if you will allow me to, Maida," she said.

"Oh, no!" I shrank away from her. "II will attend to it myself." "You can't do it very well with your left hand," she said. "Don't be foolish. I only wish to make you as comfortable as I can."

"Go away!" I cried. "I couldn't bear the touch of your hand! You are wicked—wicked!"

She turned without a word and left the room, and I tore my sleeve further open and bandaged my arm and shoulder as well as I could, and when she returned, as she presently did with a breakfast tray, I felt a little more calm and collected.

Lorna did not make an effort to speak to me again, but taking the basin of water, she went out and bolted the door. I realized all at once that I was faint with hunger, and the steaming dishes on the tray exuded a very appetizing odor; but I could not eat, the food seemed to choke me. I drank the coffee though, and felt better for it. I knew that I must keep all my wits about me, and be instantly on the alert to respond to any sign from Gilbert that he knew where I was confined and had some plan for my rescue. I didn't think they would attempt to drug me again, they would fancy me secure as I was, and since coffee was an antidote for narcotic drugs, I did not believe they would have used it as a medium to render me insensible.

When I had finished, I examined thoroughly the room in which I was confined. It was tiny and bare, with the table and bunks, as I have said before, clamped to the floor. In place of windows there were four portholes, so small that nothing larger than a monkey could have passed through them, and only one door, that through which I had entered. The walls were of seasoned wood and from the depths of the porthole rims must have been four or five inches thick. There was no possible mode of egress save that door opening into the billiard room, and I could not doubt that it would be well guarded. The room itself would have withstood a veritable siege.

While I wandered restlessly about, I heard the motorboat return, and then a distant murmur of voices, although I could not distinguish a word. When it died away, the silence remained unbroken for so long that it seemed the day must surely pass soon, and night come. I felt as if I should go quite mad in the hideous suspense and terror! I wanted to scream and beat upon the walls, and only the vague threat of a straightjacket forced me to retain a semblance of self control.

After the interminable hours, Lorna appeared with a lunch tray, but I left it untouched, and through all that weary afternoon I paced the floor ceaselessly, a prey to darkest despair.

At last the moving disks of sunlight which filtered through the portholes paled and faded, and twilight came. I sank exhausted upon the bunk. Would the fall of night bring Gilbert to me? Even though he could do nothing to release me, the sound of his voice, whispering words of comfort and consolation, the reassurance that he was still free and unmolested, awaiting a chance opportunity to aid me, would have brought immeasurable relief. This cabin-room was a wing apart from the rest of the house, and I knew that, allowing for the foundation on which it was raised, the portholes were not more than seven or eight feet from the ground.

Once I thought I heard Laddie bark, and I held my breath, but no further sound came to my ears, and the twilight deepened and grew in the silence, until I could scarcely distinguish the objects in the room.

All at once, I heard a metallic click, and the cabin was flooded with light. Someone had evidently touched an electric switch in another part of the house, which connected with this room. As I blinked in the sudden glare, the bolt rattled again, the door swung open, and Lorna entered with my dinner.

She paused when her eyes fell upon the lunch tray, with its covered dishes just as she had left it, and she turned to me hesitatingly.

"Maida, you must eat or you will be ill. Won't you please try? Can't you understand that we mean you no harm? We want you to be as comfortable as you can under the circumstances. It won't help matters for you to fast, and you will only weaken yourself terribly."

"Why are you so anxious that I should eat?" I demanded, bitterly. "Is the food drugged, like the punch which was given me on the yacht?"

"You know that?" she spoke quickly, then checked herself and added, after a pause: "I give you my word that this has not been tampered with. I brought it straight from the pantry myself."

"Your word!" I repeated, with immeasurable scorn, and she flushed darkly.

"Don't you know that if it was considered necessary to drug you, a hypodermic would be given you by force, now that all pretense is at an end? Please be sensible, Maida! Whether you realize it or not, I have tried to be your friend, and make everything as easy as possible for you. I know you have little reason to trust me, but won't you try to believe that I would help you if I could?"

She spoke with a passionate earnestness which there was no mistaking, and I looked at her curiously.

"Why?" I asked.

"I don't know!" her voice was very low, and she glanced apprehensively over her shoulder at the closed door. "I tried to steel myself against you, but you were so gentle and little and alone, that I could not help feeling sorry for you. I wish I didn't!"

"I don't understand why you should have hated me?" I said slowly. "I have never harmed you. I liked you from the beginning. I felt that you were different from the others, but I couldn't explain it to myself. What have I ever done that you should want to injure me?"

"Oh, it isn't you! It is all that you represent, all that you have had which was denied me; love, and luxury, and a sheltered life! It wasn't fair that through no fault of mine I should have none of these things! "

"And if my father should accord to your demands, do you think that what you gain in this way will ever bring you happiness!" I asked, more gently. A vague plan was forming somewhere in the back of my mind, but I must have time to think it out.

"It will bring me what I want more than anything in the world, and then my happiness will lie in my own hands," she replied, shrugging. "I would not undo what has been done if I could, and yet I am sorry for you. You will believe that, won't you? I would do anything I could to make the situation less intolerable for you. Now please try to eat a little!"

I would not yield to her coaxing, however, and after a little while she took the tray away, and returned with bedding for one of the bunks and an armful of my clothing and toilet things. Then she said good night rather wistfully and departed, and after an hour or more the lights were suddenly switched off.

I sat in the darkness, straining my ears to catch the slightest sound from without but none came, save the dismal, incessant croak of the tree-toads and chirp of crickets, and now and then the eerie hooting of an owl. The sky was overcast and no ray of moonlight crept in to relieve the dense blackness all about me.

Would Gilbert come? Would he be able to find me, and save me? What would the night bring forth? I sat huddled in my chair, staring into the darkness until shadows seemed to take shape and form and move about me stealthily, and as the hours passed, in spite of myself my heavy eyelids drooped.

All at once the sound of a disturbance within the house aroused me from the stupor of misery into which I had fallen. It was confused and muffled by the thick walls, but unmistakable, and I started in sudden apprehension from my chair. I heard subdued shouting, and the tramp and scuffle of feet, and then a dull, heavy thud, and silence. What could it have been? Had Gilbert tried to force his way into the house to my rescue, and been attacked and overpowered? Had he contrived instead to leave the island, and summon help from the mainland? I had heard no sound of an approaching boat. If I could only know what had taken place!

My self-control gave way under the strain of the long hours of fear and suspense and I beat frantically upon the heavy door with all my strength, crying out as loudly as I could, but no one came to me, no further sound from without broke the deathlike stillness. At length, spent and breathless, I staggered back from the door, and leaned, trembling against the wall. One of the portholes was just above my head and the cool night air, blowing softly in upon me, helped to calm me and bring me partly to myself.

I felt my way to the bunk, and sank wearily down upon it. I was helpless; there was nothing I could do but wait, and oh, the waiting was torture! Something had happened to Gilbert, of that I was sure. Perhaps they had killed him! Oh, if the girl called Lorna had any mercy for me in her heart she would come to me and tell me!

The moments dragged by and then in the stillness I heard the mournful howling of a dog. It was Laddie! I sprang from the bunk with fresh torture of mind. His cry was not like the night before, when he had howled at the moon; there was a wailing note of eager anxiety in it, and it came nearer and nearer. Clearly, he was searching for his master. What had they done with Gilbert? Would his faithful, staunch-hearted little friend find his way to him? I prayed that he might!

But suddenly, through the open porthole, I heard a window raised above, and a thick voice, very much like Alaric's, shouted a curse. Heavy feet tramped hastily down the stairs, the massive front door clanged with a jar that fairly shook the house, and there was a mighty thrashing about of the shrubbery and undergrowth outside. I heard Laddie growl ominously, then a revolver shot rang out and hard upon it a sharp yelp of agony from the dog, and afterwards—silence.

I cowered down and covered my face with my trembling hands. "Laddie," I moaned. "Poor, poor Laddie! Little true friend, they have killed you, too!"

I sat there listening through all the long hours of that night, but no further sound broke the stillness save the sighing of the wind in the trees, and that died down in the hush before the dawn. I did not sleep, but I think my senses must have left me mercifully for a time. I remember that I tried to pray, at least, but the words would not form themselves in my mind, and even God seemed very far away, and heedless of my extremity.

By and by a faint gray haze crept in at the porthole and broadened and grew until the sun rose, and a golden beam of light stole in and brightened all my prison, but I was scarcely conscious of it. I felt cold and numb, as if I were already dead and nothing seemed to matter very much.

The girl Lorna came presently, and I heard as if from far away her exclamation of shocked pity at sight of my drawn face. She dragged in a little toilet stand, and brought hot water and fresh linen, and helped me bathe and dress myself in a clean, cool gown. She even brushed my hair, and I no longer shrank from her touch. My spirit seemed completely broken and I would not have cared if death had come to me at that moment.

I obediently drank the coffee she gave me but I turned with indescribable loathing from the food although it was nearly twenty-four hours since I had choked down a few mouthfuls from the breakfast tray she had brought me the previous day. I was aware that she was speaking to me compassionately, but I could only shake my head in reply.

When she turned to leave the room, however, I managed to rouse myself at last.

"Please," I stammered, "will you tell me of the little dog?"

She came quickly to me.

"What is it?" she asked. "What little dog?"

"Laddie. They—they shot him, last night. I could not bear to think that perhaps he was wandering about in the woods, maimed and suffering. He belonged to that young man, you know."

I spoke as if I knew that Gilbert were dead. Indeed, I felt at that moment that he must be. Had he lived, he would have come to me, in spite of them all, for he had promised!

She gave a quick little exclamation of pity.

"The poor little dog! I will go and find him, and if he is not dead I will do what I can for him. I will tell you when I come in again."

"Thank you." I sank down once more upon the bunk.

"You are ill, chérie! You suffer! Ah, Maida, in spite of all it means to me, I wish I had not helped to bring this upon you! What you said yesterday—it has made me afraid! You asked if that which I gained through this could bring me happiness. You have made me wonder if happiness can be bought, with blood money! It is too late now, but I wish that my hands were clean! As for you, pauvre petite, you must not grieve, for you will be happy, I am sure; you will soon be restored to your father. You must try to believe that, and take heart again."

She laid her cool hand lightly on my throbbing forehead for a moment, and was gone, and I sat as she had left me, my dazed brain refusing the effort of coherent thought.

A little later, I heard the launch depart for the mainland and return, but it conveyed no definite impression to my mind until presently the key rasped in the lock, the bolt was shot back, and the door swung open. Then indeed I was roused from the inertia into which I had fallen, for the man who stood before me was neither Alaric nor Monsieur Pelissier. He was taller and more heavily built than either, and the look he bent upon me was keen and piercingly compelling, from beneath his mass of snow-white hair. It was the man who had called himself Mr. Fordyce.

I sat motionless, gazing steadily at him, and betraying by not so much as the droop of an eyelash the surprise of this unlooked for contingency. My dormant mind was eagerly alert once more, and I instantly grasped the fact that this man was here for some definite purpose other than merely to view the present situation for himself. Had he come to take me to Daddy? Could it be that he had paid the exorbitant sum they demanded for my release, or were they threatened with discovery and deemed it no longer safe to hold me in captivity? Was this hideous nightmare at an end, and freedom in sight?

"My dear young lady!" he came forward with his quick, warm fatherly smile, which now quite failed to impose upon me. "I regret exceedingly that it was necessary to resort to these measures. I hope that you have been made as comfortable as possible."

"Did you come here to assure me of that?" I asked evenly, my eyes never leaving his face.

"Surely you know I would wish no harm to come to you?" he went on.

I laughed significantly.

"I can quite understand that," I said. "It would scarcely be to your interest, would it? May I ask the reason for this intrusion?"

"I came for a little friendly talk, Miss Waring." He seated himself upon the opposite bunk and regarded me with what was intended for a benevolent glance. "I assure you that this situation is as distasteful to me, to us, as it can possibly be to you." "Indeed?" I shrugged. "Then why not end it, and take me to my father?"

"That is a matter which is entirely in your hands." He paused and moved a little, as if my intent, unswerving gaze was disconcerting even to his iron-clad effrontery. "I would gladly act upon your suggestion, but unfortunately there is a little formality to be concluded first, in which you father does not appear to acquiesce. I am in hopes, however, that you can persuade him."

So that was it! Daddy was obdurate, and he had come to make a tool of me, in attempting to coerce him! I smiled faintly, but made no reply.

"We had tried to make your little sojourn with us, until you discovered the truth, as pleasant as the circumstances permitted," he continued, after a moment. "But I have no doubt that you wish to return to your father as soon as it can be arranged. If you will write a little note to him, explaining the existing conditions, which I shall—er—dictate for you, I am sure he will accede to our request without further delay. One word from you, remember, my dear Miss Waring, and you are free!"

He paused again, then as I made no effort to break the silence, he added persuasively:

"Shall I send for a pen and paper? Come, Miss Waring, I am waiting for your answer."

I started, as if aroused from a train of thought totally at variance with his suggestion.

"Oh," I remarked, "I was just thinking of something."

"The matter is very simple," he urged. You must realize that you have no possible alternative."

"The letter?" I asked blandly. "Oh, I wasn't troubling my head about that! I was trying to remember who you are and where I had seen you."

"It would be more profitable for you to concern yourself with my proposition," he said quickly, with a scowl.

"Perhaps not," I returned blandly. "It will be a source at least of satisfaction to me later to be able to identify you. I wonder where I have seen you before! I know part of your name, of course, but that doesn't assist my memory."

"My name!" he repeated, his sangfroid momentarily gone. "How can you know that?"

"May Grady, my father's former stenographer, spoke of you as 'Herman'. Now, if you will remove that venerable wig you are wearing for a moment, I may be able to place you for future reference. I know that somewhere I have seen your face before."

"You are mistaken!" he cried harshly. "May Grady, as you call her, did not refer to me. But enough of this! You try my patience! Will you write that letter?"

I rose.

"Not while I have my reason, or the strength to guide a pen! You may torture me, starve me, do anything you like, but I will never play into your hands, and help you in your vile scheme to mulct my father!"

"We shall see." He rose to his feet, also, and although he spoke restrainedly, his keen eyes glistened ominously. "You may have cause to change your mind later. I warn you, that unless you do as I ask, you shall never leave this place alive! As to starving you, I understand that you have attempted that for yourself. If you continue in the course you are pursuing, I shall see that you are forcibly fed, and if you have been reading in the newspapers of the methods employed with refractory suffragettes in the English prisons, you will realize that it is a distinctly unpleasant experience. You have been humored, my dear young woman, and treated with every possible courtesy, but the time has come for you to understand that you are in our power, and must obey. I will leave you now to think the matter over, and when I come again I shall hope to find you more sensible. Remember that if you are not I shall resort to other measures to make you amenable to reason."

He stalked from the room, and the bolt was shot into place with a jar that made the heavy door quiver.

I stood lost in thought. In the moment when my reference to his identity had shaken his control of himself, he had raised his voice slightly, and its ringing, sonorous, trained tones had quickened into life that vague, latent sense of familiarity. Could it be possible that he was a public speaker, an orator whom I had once heard somewhere? Miss Farmingdale had sent us in squads to lectures of all sorts, scientific, altruistic, religious,

I suddenly gripped my throat convulsively with both hands to still the cry which rose to my lips! I knew him! Why had I not thought of that before? I had seen him but once, although his pictures had been in all the papers in the country in connection with every anarchistic disturbance of recent years! It had been like his superb egotism to dare to show himself in my presence with no more adequate disguise than the wig afforded. I would not spare him now! He was too well-known, he had advertised his personality too widely to find sanctuary in any corner of the world where the police could not rout him out, and punish him for his crime! He had for once put into vicious practice his loud-mouthed ranting against moneyed classes, and the license he preached for God-given liberty to ignorant souls had brought him at last to the commission of crime.

My thoughts turned to the others. From what walks of life had he gathered the little group who had done his bidding? Pelissier was plainly an adventurer; Alaric a mere strong-arm crook. I remembered his dexterity and skill at bridge; possibly he was a low-grade swindler and card-sharp. But Lorna! She was of totally different caliber, highly educated, sensitively organized, temperamental, a gentlewoman; how had she become enmeshed in this net of crime? Her presence among the rest was incongruous, incomprehensible. And the woman who had accomplished the initial task, and in the guise of Mrs. Smith abducted me from the school—what of her? She had seemed from the first moment a strange anomaly, a mixture of refinement and vulgarity, tact, intelligence and crass stupidity. She had proved herself an actress of no mean ability, and she must previously too, have wormed herself in some way into the real Mrs. Smith's friendship. The little mannerisms, the appearance, the lisp, the knowledge of intimate details of the past could only have been acquired after long, close study and association.

When, goaded into sudden frenzy by the revelation that her fraud had been discovered, she had turned savagely upon me, the Grady girl had cried: "Connie, don't!"

Connie? Then, like a flash, the memory returned to me of our conversation at tea time on the afternoon of our arrival, and her consternation at my inadvertent mention of Connie Cole, the notorious bank swindler. Two days later, she had announced the expected arrival of Mr. Hilton, and boasted because of an idle taunt of Alaric, that she had never made a financial mistake. Alaric sneered openly, and when she called him to account for it, he uttered the single name "Bridgewater" and she had almost collapsed. Amos Bridgewater, of the Mammoth Trust Company, had been the man to unmask Connie Cole, and bring her to justice!

Had the long arm of coincidence reached even to this remote island? Had my innocent, random shot found a mark I least suspected? Was "Aunt Julie" indeed the infamous Connie Cole?